No Wigging at Wanda's
Glindy and I had our first haircut
together on Tuesday. While I've gotten my haircut plenty of times,
and Glindy's been to the groomer's more than she'd like, this was
the first time Glindy had ever come with me when I got my
hair cut.
To be honest, I wasn't quite sure how we were going to work it.
After all, I didn't want to let her roam free, but I also didn't
want her to get in the stylist's way. However, I have faith that
these things will work themselves out, so off we went.
When we got there, I was overpowered by the smells. My stylist
works in a salon where they mostly handle women, so my nose was
assaulted by the smells of acetone, nail polish, burning
fingernails from filing, bleach, and hair dye. It made my eyes
water. Glindy, trooper that she is, took it completely in stride;
she didn't wig out at all, despite the olfactory provocation.
When the stylist was ready for me, I noticed that her mirror sat
above a small table that was just deep enough for Glindy to lay
under. I put her in a down-stay under the table where she was
safely out of the way, but wasn't quite sure what to do with the
leash.
Wanda, my stylist, had the solution. She opened a drawer in the
table, and I put the leash handle inside. She closed the drawer,
and viola! Glindy was now lightly tethered to the table, and
unlikely to wander off even if she broke her stay.
While I got my hair cut, the stylist and I discussed service dogs
and hidden disabilities. It turns out that her husband also has an
invisible disability, so we commiserated about the bias many people
have about non-obvious disabilities like ours. It was
uplifting.
So, with a fabulous haircut and another training milestone under
our belts, the week was off to a good start.